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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501160">Leningrad</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciditylost/pseuds/luciditylost'>luciditylost</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, POV Second Person, Poetry, and also rhythmic gymnastics, completely original thing, heavily inspired by the elgar cello concerto, how did i get to this point, i guess, it's very existential also</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 02:48:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501160</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciditylost/pseuds/luciditylost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>stand with me and watch the world end, my dear.</p>
<p>after all, this is something that will not come again.</p>
<p>(after all, this has happened many times before.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Leningrad</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>One.</em>
</p>
<p>My dear, let me tell you about the Elgar cello concerto. It was</p>
<p>Written by a man watching the end of his world, by a man whose country</p>
<p>Had been destroyed by a war that he thought at the time would be The worst that his world would ever face.</p>
<p><em>(He was wrong, but</em> <em>That is a tragedy unrelated to the way that he spins phrases into emotions.)</em></p>
<p>It was written by a man whose music, which had once</p>
<p>Been the pride of his nation, was considered</p>
<p>Too old, too out of style, nothing</p>
<p>Worth listening to. It was written by a man</p>
<p>In the middle of the woods with no company, save</p>
<p>For his wife, who was weakening each day. He loved her, and</p>
<p>Nothing will ever last forever. She died, my dearest, only weeks</p>
<p>After he premiered his last great work.</p>
<p>Still, she stood beside him as he watched the audience</p>
<p>Stare at the performer, unimpressed.</p>
<p>Do not ask me if she loved it. It is not my place to say.</p>
<p>Instead, stand with me and watch the sunrise, and</p>
<p>Pretend that this means that the day in front of us could be</p>
<p>Anything at all. (We both know</p>
<p>Just how much she did.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Two.</em>
</p>
<p>This is the beginning of something new. Stand with me and</p>
<p>Watch the way that the sky lights up</p>
<p>With potential, glittering more than the false diamond</p>
<p>That you use as a paperweight. Pick both up at once</p>
<p>And hold them in your hands. Which is heavier, dear?</p>
<p>Your diamond holds your thoughts down, but I think that</p>
<p>They could never be as heavy as the world,</p>
<p>Pausing to watch a new thing enter the air.</p>
<p>It wants something, the world does.</p>
<p>It is very good at wanting things.</p>
<p>Perhaps, this time, it will want too much,</p>
<p>And the fireworks will fade before they have</p>
<p>A chance to begin. Even if that happens, stand with me</p>
<p>On the edge of understanding. <em>(You can still watch, my dear. It is</em></p>
<p>
  <em>A different kind of watching, to watch how it all falls to pieces.)</em>
</p>
<p>I will be remembering. I will be thinking</p>
<p>Of everything that could have been, that was never going to be.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Three.</em>
</p>
<p>This is the moment of greatness. This is the moment</p>
<p>That your world is at its height, that you have done</p>
<p>All that you will ever do. Enjoy it. No, I suppose that</p>
<p>There is no way to do that. First of all, you do not know.</p>
<p>Your ignorance lights up the room around you as you</p>
<p>Laugh at the awful, awful jokes that your best friend tells.</p>
<p>You do not know what comes after this moment, or if you do,</p>
<p>You have decided to ignore it. <em>(Is that the best that you can do,</em></p>
<p><em>to simply pretend that nothing is inevitable?)</em> You were not</p>
<p>Meant to live in a single moment and let it be the greatest of you life,</p>
<p>Surely. You were meant for more.</p>
<p>I will watch from the sidelines as you try to keep climbing</p>
<p>A mountain that will always be just high enough for you to</p>
<p>Glimpse the peak. Do not ask me for help. I told you</p>
<p>When your moment was, so that you could enjoy it.</p>
<p>It is the most that I can offer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Four.</em>
</p>
<p>The clubs are in the air, two small things that the performer has</p>
<p>Carefully covered in tape to catch the light. Do you see them?</p>
<p>Do you see the performer? Which do you find yourself watching,</p>
<p>The objects or the human dancing beneath them?</p>
<p>She was better with the hoop, perhaps, which shone</p>
<p>Golden and became nothing less than another part</p>
<p>Of her body, one that she could toss in the air</p>
<p>With a smile and one that she could catch</p>
<p>Without thinking to look first, because she knew exactly where</p>
<p>It would fall. But she is beautiful with the clubs as well.</p>
<p>Watch her spin them in her hands.</p>
<p>She will win this round, as she has</p>
<p>Won all of the others. This is her last chance,</p>
<p>And she knows that she must do everything</p>
<p>Perfectly. She will, of course, succeed This will be</p>
<p>Her victory, her height, and she was meant to walk away</p>
<p>Victorious. Watch her throw the clubs with practiced ease.</p>
<p>Too practiced, you could say. She is overconfident, that is</p>
<p>A danger. <em>(You do not say anything. You, after all, do not</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Know how this story will end.)</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Five.</em>
</p>
<p>Elgar never wrote again after his wife died, my dearest.</p>
<p>He simply couldn’t. On his deathbed, he had written only</p>
<p>Sketches and useless melodies that said</p>
<p>Nothing of importance, and he would not let them be finished.</p>
<p>It was his final wish, that nothing from his mind would be</p>
<p>Allowed to remain. Listen to <em>Pomp and Circumstance</em>, my love,</p>
<p>And try to tell me that <em>this</em> is the same man that wrote</p>
<p>The ending of our favorite concerto. You will not be able to.</p>
<p>The melodies are too different, and only one</p>
<p>Speaks of the truth in all things. Hold my hand</p>
<p>And ask yourself this: would you ever write again, if it was</p>
<p>Torn away? His concerto, his last work, remained</p>
<p>Exactly as it had premiered: ignored, a work by a man</p>
<p>Who was no longer himself. He would never be again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Six.</em>
</p>
<p>Do you remember when you held a diamond</p>
<p>Paperweight in your hands and told me</p>
<p>That it carried nothing important at all? You</p>
<p>Keep your real thoughts in gilded notebooks</p>
<p>That you bought on a whim years ago.</p>
<p>You have too many of them.</p>
<p>
  <em>(You have not enough thoughts. Leave that part</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Unspoken, a thing for me to interpret through your silences.)</em>
</p>
<p>Hold the paperweight, and hold the new thing</p>
<p>That we glimpsed the potential in last night, the one</p>
<p>That the world could not help but greet with brightness.</p>
<p>Throw both on the ground. Watch carefully,</p>
<p>And mark down with the cold gaze of a scientist</p>
<p>Which one shatters first.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Seven.</em>
</p>
<p>This is the weight of an idea: that it</p>
<p>Will carry the whole world with its brilliance.</p>
<p>That it will be something new, reinvent itself,</p>
<p>Whenever it has the need to. That it will</p>
<p>Shine so brightly that it simply <em>must</em> be noticed,</p>
<p>That nothing else will be able to overtake</p>
<p>Its beauty. It is expected to be ever-changing</p>
<p>And always itself, lovely and brutal, simple enough</p>
<p>That you can speak it to me late at night but still</p>
<p>Something never seen before.</p>
<p>This is the weight of a person, dearest: that they</p>
<p>Will exist for themselves, for others, for the world.</p>
<p>That they will never fall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Eight.</em>
</p>
<p>We were watching the clubs, correct?</p>
<p>Do not pay attention to the woman beneath them,</p>
<p>Reaching, reaching, always reaching.</p>
<p>It is a certainty that she will succeed.</p>
<p>Pay attention to the clubs, spinning</p>
<p>In the air in perfect harmony,</p>
<p>One and then the other. Watch them</p>
<p>Rise. Watch them fall. Now you can</p>
<p>Watch the woman, in her gold outfit,</p>
<p>Certain that this will be her final performance.</p>
<p>She is right about this. She is right about most</p>
<p>Of her life, she has learned to know herself.</p>
<p>She is wrong about the way that the clubs will fall,</p>
<p>Just a few inches to the right. <em>(What, did you think that she would not</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Be wrong, not after all this certainty? Do not be foolish.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Everyone is, my love.)</em>
</p>
<p>A few inches, but the world, and they fall</p>
<p>One by one to the floor that they are not allowed</p>
<p>To touch. A few inches, but now her</p>
<p>Inevitable victory is no longer in her grasp.</p>
<p>Watch the way that she drops to the ground after them at</p>
<p>The end of her routine, no longer smiling. Perhaps</p>
<p>You should have been watching her the whole time,</p>
<p>You say. Yes, perhaps. But would it have</p>
<p>Really changed anything?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Nine.</em>
</p>
<p>This is what the world thought about the Elgar concerto:</p>
<p>Too romantic. Too useless. It says nothing, and it</p>
<p>Tries to say too much. Good for nothing</p>
<p>More than an etude, or perhaps a work</p>
<p>To give to a high schooler swept away by rebellion.</p>
<p>No, instead you should play the Dvorak,</p>
<p>If you really want to be anything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Ten.</em>
</p>
<p>The scene is laid out before you. A book,</p>
<p>Something Russian and overlong, on the bed.</p>
<p>Several notebooks, most of them empty.</p>
<p>Letters, held down by a diamond paperweight. You may pick them up.</p>
<p>The scene has moved on without you already anyways.</p>
<p>Here are letters written for somebody beyond the reach of time,</p>
<p>Somebody who only <em>used to</em> exist. <em>(These are unsent, but they</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Will never be forgotten. Read them, and remind yourself of what</em>
</p>
<p><em>Used to be.) </em>Behind you, torn up in the garbage can,</p>
<p>Are the ones that were received, and opened, and abandoned. Put them</p>
<p>Back together, my love, for the full story.</p>
<p>Is that what you want? The full story?</p>
<p>Don’t bother. They could be anything. Just let me</p>
<p>Tell you this one important detail:</p>
<p>They speak of failure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Eleven.</em>
</p>
<p>This is the ending. Does it matter</p>
<p>How long it lasted, how long it could hold itself strong</p>
<p>Before it collapsed in on itself, before it chose to be forgotten?</p>
<p>You know the answer, by now. Or, at least, you know</p>
<p>What the world will say. Nothing matters. All that matters</p>
<p>Is the pressure lifted from your chest as</p>
<p>The sky becomes dark again, and the</p>
<p>Sudden weight in your hands as you realize</p>
<p>That there is nothing left to do. Let me tell you this:</p>
<p>It speaks of failure. It speaks of an</p>
<p>Emptiness in your chest, which I am told</p>
<p>Once held a heart. (<em>Did it? It is your turn to tell me</em></p>
<p>
  <em>This one thing. What did you want, long ago before anything</em>
</p>
<p><em>Mattered?) </em>Listen to the concerto, listen to the way</p>
<p>The performer reaches for the high notes in front of</p>
<p>An audience that does not care to think. Watch</p>
<p>The woman walk away from her performance,</p>
<p>Clubs in hand, crying because her one mistake</p>
<p>Caught her in the moment that it mattered most.</p>
<p>The diamond is still in your hands, but when you look at it</p>
<p>You realize that it has always been plastic.</p>
<p>Drop it to the floor. Drop it and feel the world</p>
<p>Stop caring. There is nothing left</p>
<p>But the afterimage of fireworks behind your eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Twelve.</em>
</p>
<p>This is what comes after the end. Tell me,</p>
<p>Did you know that such a thing exists? It does. After all, someday the world itself</p>
<p>Will end, and there must still be something to</p>
<p>Live for after that. That is how these things go.</p>
<p>Do not ask if you will ever feel full again. You do not</p>
<p>Want me to answer you truthfully, you want</p>
<p>A lie beautiful enough to paint in front of the sunrise.</p>
<p>I am not in the habit of lying.</p>
<p>This is after the end. Walk off of the stage.</p>
<p>This is what remains: the memory of</p>
<p>A pressure that killed you inside, one that you came to</p>
<p>Love, and the hope that you can return to the</p>
<p>World that you lost. You cannot. Look at the final chord,</p>
<p>Faded notes on faded paper. Look at the</p>
<p>New victor, preparing to smile in a way</p>
<p>That she is not yet used to. Look at the things</p>
<p>That you are left with, and the ones</p>
<p>That you will never have again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Thirteen.</em>
</p>
<p>The clubs are put away. The battle is lost.</p>
<p>Only the ribbon remains. Still, though, the performer</p>
<p>Needs to fight. It is what she was taught. Watch her,</p>
<p>Tears still hanging from her thoughts, her makeup</p>
<p>Mysteriously perfect, carry her ribbon</p>
<p>Onto the stage. Watch the way that she fights</p>
<p>When there is nothing left to lose.</p>
<p>Watch her smile. It’s different, now, no longer</p>
<p>Dripping with victory. Instead, it seems true. Ask</p>
<p>If it is real. Ask if she is enjoying this. Watch the way</p>
<p>That her ribbon shimmers in the air, watch her catch it</p>
<p>Perfectly this time, and let the questions build up.</p>
<p>Afterwards, she will leave the arena, and she will tell</p>
<p>The truth. Her final performance, the one after she had</p>
<p>Already lost everything, was the only one that she ever found</p>
<p>The strength to enjoy. It was the only one that she</p>
<p>Would ever want to experience again. Watch her exit the arena,</p>
<p>Hand in hand with the new victor, both of them carrying</p>
<p>Notebooks made to remember that day, long ago, when</p>
<p>They both won. Watch them relearn how to be simply friends.</p>
<p>Neither of them will ever perform again. Both of them will be</p>
<p>Remembered. Watch the rest of their lives, years spent</p>
<p>Seeking another way to find victory, and watch them <em>live</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Fourteen.</em>
</p>
<p>My dear, let me tell you about Jacqueline du Pre. She</p>
<p>Was taught a concerto that nobody else cared for, one</p>
<p>Written by an aging man trying to memorize</p>
<p>The way that his dying wife smiled. Watch her</p>
<p>Listen to the notes, and watch her <em>understand</em> them.</p>
<p>When she is sixteen, still too young to know</p>
<p>What lies ahead of her, she will debut on an instrument</p>
<p>That costs more than her home. It was</p>
<p>Given to her, a gift from the world, and in return</p>
<p>She will give them the Elgar, in its full glory.</p>
<p>Watch her smile, watch her recognize</p>
<p>The way that she will be great.</p>
<p>Watch as the world realizes that they</p>
<p>Had forgotten something very, very, important.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Fifteen.</em>
</p>
<p>The paperweight cannot be put back together.</p>
<p>Why did you shatter it, in that way? Were you</p>
<p>Truly so hopeless that you had to throw it to the floor?</p>
<p>I cannot lie to you, and I cannot put it back together.</p>
<p>I cannot show you the way that another life, one that can</p>
<p>Understand yours, will one day light up the sky, and when they</p>
<p>Shine brighter than you ever could, they will dedicate it all to you.</p>
<p>Your private diamond will remain broken</p>
<p>Until the day that you break with it. But I can</p>
<p>Promise you this: one day, it will all be worth it. One day,</p>
<p>You will hear the world as it was meant to be. You will</p>
<p>Not remain forever bound to the Earth by the memory of</p>
<p>Things that you will always long for.</p>
<p>One day, you will reach for the sky, and it will</p>
<p>Bend in your grasp. When that day comes, my love,</p>
<p>Paint me into your sunset.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Sixteen.</em>
</p>
<p>The story is yet to end. It will not end</p>
<p>The way that you want it to. I apologise for this, because</p>
<p>Even though I did not create this story, my dearest,</p>
<p>I did have the option to leave out the ending. Still,</p>
<p>Listen carefully. There is still one more fall to tell you of.</p>
<p>Jacqueline du Pre, in all of her glory, played</p>
<p>Her instrument for only sixteen years. When she</p>
<p>Was twenty-eight years old, still so young that</p>
<p>Her life seemed like an infinite thing, she lost</p>
<p>The ability to open her cello case. She was diagnosed with</p>
<p>A disease that took away the things she loved best first, and</p>
<p>Did not give her the option of leaving the stage victorious.</p>
<p>She did not see it coming. <em>(Who could have?)</em> Watch her,</p>
<p>In her London flat, teach students from around the world.</p>
<p>Watch them play phrases that she will never again be able to,</p>
<p>In a way that will never be more than a pale imitation of hers.</p>
<p>She was the greatest. She fell more than most people could.</p>
<p>Do not ask me, darling, what her final great performance would have been,</p>
<p>If she had known. It is not my place to say. Instead,</p>
<p>Stand with me and watch the stars, stars that are both cold and warm at once</p>
<p>And stars that do not care how often we find ourselves longing to be among them</p>
<p>And stars that we love, anyways, with more of ourselves</p>
<p>Than we ever loved our lives. Stand with me, add remark that</p>
<p>Perhaps it would have been the Elgar.</p>
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